Lighting the Dark
by Pereybere
Summary: The past would never leave them, but having each other eased the pain.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Lighting the Dark

**Summary**: The past would never leave them, but having each other eased the pain.

**Rating: **This is an M rated story. It contains some graphic material and you shouldn't read it if you're too young or offended by that.

**Spoilers**: Between The Truth and IWTB, also mention of Detour and Orison – to be safe, whole series. Although there's no mention of the plot in the new movie - except where their relationship stands.

**Categories: **Romance, Angst, MSR,

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Mulder and Scully. They belong to Christ Carter, 1013 Productions and 20th Century Fox. There is no infringement intended whatsoever and I'm using these characters for my own pleasure. I just want to get that clear because CC has been involved in a law suit perpetually for about the past ten years. I don't want to be the next.

**Author's Notes: **The interest in X-Files fanfiction bad been fledging for some years now. I remember when I was first introduced to the magnificent world of fanfic, well over 10 years ago now, I was amazed by the hundreds of stories that were posted every month in gossamer and on various other sites. Needless to say as the interest dwindled and all the websites shut down, I was gutted. My favourite TV-show had been sent to the television history museum but I'm hoping that the arrival of the new movie will bring about some new found interest in writing and reading these stories once again. If you have read this, and you have enjoyed it at all, telling me will encourage me more. Think of reviews as cookies for a kid. Hehe.

* * *

"Do you believe there is ever an appropriate time for melodrama?" he asked her one evening as they cooked dinner together, side by side in the kitchen. Pausing as she peeled carrots with swift, precise motions that could only be obtained by a doctor, she contemplated his question and its ambiguity.

"Not in movies," she replied at last. "Certainly not in books." Her slender nose, peppered with faint freckles wrinkled in annoyance and her hand, wrapped around the top end of the carrot tightened as she began to work again.

"Why not in movies or books?" he countered, cutting through raw breasts of chicken with a slightly squeamish look upon his face. It was cruel of her, she knew, but after years of cutting up the corpses he planted upon her, she felt it was poetic justice to force this task on his begrudging shoulders. He was sickened by the raw flesh that shifted like jelly beneath his fingertips. Unfortunately he didn't have the same effortless dexterity as she.

"Movies, I can tolerate. It only takes two hours to watch a movie, but when you sit down to read a book, you're in it for the long haul, right?" He half nodded. "Then you get to the epilogue and as if it wasn't bad enough that the hero and heroine had succumbed to the age-old cliché of getting married in the _last_ chapter, but just to tie everything up nice and neatly, she gets pregnant in the epilogue and everyone is so happy." Her voice had taken on a tone of faux saccharine sweetness. "It's more realistic when the hero runs of with another woman and cannot commit to her because he's too afraid. Or she finds out that the baby isn't really her husbands because she had an illicit affair with his best friend. True romance is when real people work through real problems."

Mulder was scandalised.

"Bitter much?" he asked, squirting rosehip soap unto his hands, massaging the crème into a lather before rinsing it away. She made short work of slicing the carrot, her cool blue eyes levelled upon him. "Realistic and romantic not necessarily go together." The corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile, conceding without completely relinquishing her point of view. It was a classic Scully-ism. A quirk he'd come to adore. He hated to be wrong but boy, so did she!

"I'm hesitant to ask but why this question about melodrama in the first place?" She dropped the meat into a glass dish, followed by the carrots before rinsing her own hands. Mulder, feeling that he'd done more than his fair share of the dinner-making activities in dissecting raw flesh, had turned his efforts to preparing vanilla tea.

"I wanted to gauge your reaction for when I told you that for the first time since being a child, I'm happy with my life. And I owe it you and your companionship." Scully wasn't a woman who permitted her emotions to show, often. Even now her eyes did not mist and her face remained impassive – as though he had not spoken at all. The lid of the glass dish clinked nosily as she set it in place, slid the dish into the oven before she turned to him.

"It's only melodramatic if we hadn't been through all the stuff we have been through. Since we have, I call that romantic."

Their lives were oddly simple now – she a doctor and he a perpetual if not secretive crusader for the paranormal. She didn't want to be involved in it and he didn't ask. One night in Oregon long ago, he'd lain with her in his bed and told her she'd already sacrificed too much. It was over two years after that before she was finally able to escape the ties that bound them together in a never ending quest for the truth. Now that she was freed from it, he had no desire to draw her back into it again.

He'd lost Samantha to it. His father. She'd lost her sister and almost died from a cancer that ravaged her entire body – but William... their son was the final blow of devastation that either of them could endure.

"Stop..." she said, running her fingertips across his forehead and easing away the creases of deep thought. Sometimes, like now, when his memories got carried away his eyes would darken so much as to be almost black – and a void of desolate emptiness. The moment she touched him, embers of gold sparkled in his irises and the light – or at least something resembling it – returned.

"I was thinking about-"

"I know," she broke in, pulling her hand away. "We've both been to that place before lets try not to keep returning." She told him once that she used to sing _Jeremiah was a Bullfrog_ to William whenever she needed to remind herself of the human contact she'd once had with his father. He joked that no one should have to suffer the same torment he suffered in the forest all those years ago. They'd both smiled but the melancholy sat too thick in their hearts for them to find real, genuine humour in the past.

"Returning makes us human, Scully." He looked older now and she wasn't sure whether it was the work that had aged him or not having it anymore. Still, she didn't complain because he still looked good and he was more than healthy. "How was work today?" he enquired and the sudden shift in conversation surprised her. Scully stepped back, taking the small pottery cup of vanilla tea from the counter.

"One of my patients didn't make it," she said as she sat at the round oak table, crossing her legs. She'd changed from her charcoal suit into faded jeans and an olive green sweater. Her long hair had been pulled into a decorative clip at the base of her neck and a few wispy, near-golden strands had come loose and hung in half-hearted waves around her neck. She pursed her lips, blowing away the sweet aromatic steam that rose from the cup she held. A whiff of vanilla drifted across their kitchen, lulling him towards her.

"I'm sorry," Mulder replied – the default condolences that he offered her when one of her patients died on the operating table. When she didn't reply with her own default 'thank you' he was surprised and then troubled when her cornflower blue eyes avoided his. Years ago he'd have to pry – plucking his way through an emotional mine-field of 'I'm fines' or 'just leave its' – nowadays, she made a conscious effort not to shut him out and he appreciated it.

"I feel guilty, Mulder." He sat next to her.

"Scully you can't save everyone." She shook her head, those soft tendrils swaying back and forth against the side of her face.

"It's not that. He'd been in hospital for over a month and it was revealed that he'd been in prison for the past twenty five years for raping and murdering two women. Part of me wanted him to die." She looked at him now, eyes dark with guilt. "When he flat-lined, I pulled my mask off and I was horrified that my only thought was 'burn in hell, you bastard.'." Her eyes searched his, desperately seeking reassurance that she wasn't the same kind of monster as he. She'd done this before, when he'd shot Donnie Pfaster in her apartment. She'd been afraid that the devil had been working through her then.

"You're human, Scully. With human emotions, human anger. What that man did was wrong and some might say he deserved redemption – maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. You believe in God and he'll be judged accordingly now. But you cannot feel guilty for resenting 

the evil that lived in him." His thumb brushed over her knuckles, and her fingers opened as they relaxed beneath his gentle encouragement. Her shoulders loosened and she allowed herself a small, near invisible smile. "When I profiled in Violent Crimes, I condemned every single one of those bastards to hell. Some nights, as I looked over page after page of my profile notes, I prayed that if there was a God, he'd damn their souls to an eternity of torture. You," he said, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek now, "have nothing to be guilty for."

Then it came.

"Thank you, Mulder." Pushing aside the unfinished cup of sweet vanilla tea and took both his hands in hers and squeezed tight. "I never thought I'd say this, but you're my sanity in so many ways." Then she laughed and the sound brought more joy to his heart than anything else ever could. "Sanity and you put together in positive terms in the _same_ sentence? I must be losing my mind." Slapping her denim clad thighs, she got to her feet. "I 'm visiting my mother this weekend, Mulder."

He knew what she'd say next because inevitably, she always did.

"Would you like to come?" And inevitably, as routine predicted, he declined. "She asks about you."

"I know she does," he said running his palms across his cheeks. "I appreciate that she still cares about me, after all this time." Margaret Scully was the epitome of a good Catholic woman; kind, honest and forgiving to a fault. He looked down fondly at her only remaining daughter. "She's a wonderful woman." Sometimes he wished he could summon the courage to visit her home – to look into her eyes and thank her for never begrudging him the happiness he'd found with her little girl. But too much had transpired and he didn't think he'd ever be comfortable in the family home again.

"I'll tell her you said that. A handsome younger man offering her compliments? She'll be delighted." He smiled then, knowing perfectly well that her mother was no fool and she was not the type of woman to fall under the spell of some manly charm. Neither was her daughter for that matter. "You know," she said, her voice lowering so slightly that to anyone else it would be unperceivable. Not to him though. "Dinner will be another hour or so. " Her hands slid around him, under his navy sweater and the grey t-shirt he wore 

beneath it. Running over the still-firm contours of his body like a whispered breath. A shiver ran along his spine her she touched him and he trembled visibly, never failing to be amazed by the profound effect she had upon him.

"I think I get the implication," he told her evenly. "I'll clean the study, you clean the living room." She withdrew her hand and slapped his arm.

"Mul-derrr," she drawled, chuckling lowly. He reached for her, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her slender body against him. Their groins brushed and the contact was instant combustion. His penis hardened at the darkened desire in her eyes and the subtle quiver of her full, soft lips. Rumours had been rife in the FBI that Dana Scully was the Ice Queen mistress. That there was no one who could level a cooler stare or maintain such strict sexual reserve.

He knew that these assumptions were unfounded nonsense conjured by jealous women who wanted to be her and scorned men who couldn't have her. When she came into his arms she did so willing, without reservations and with a feisty abandon that drove him wild.

Mulder's hands slid over the curve of her buttocks, tight beneath the jeans she wore. Her breaths were deep as his fingers tightened cupping her ass and lifting her body towards him. Her lips parted slightly as she touched her mouth to his. Sometimes her kisses were fervent and controlled by an urgency that nearly consumed them. Today, her tongue stroked the small tuft of coarse hair that had grown beneath his lower lip, urging his mouth to open. Not to be rushed, she tasted the corners of his lips, the tip of her hot, wet tongue pausing there before sweeping over his top lip, sucking his soft flesh into her mouth. He moaned, his fingers digging into her buttocks and pressing her groan tight against his hardened penis. The slow, erotic kisses were the best and when she permitted his tongue into her mouth he was silently thankful that today she wanted to take things at leisure.

Withdrawing from his arms, she took his hand and led him from the kitchen to the living room. Their home looked out unto miles of forestry – tall leafy trees that hid them and thankfully their activities from anyone who looked on. Still, she wanted privacy and leaving him alone for a moment, Scully drew the curtains across the window before turning back to him.

The room, plunged into a hazy half-light, seemed to crackle with the sexual energy that did and always had, existed between them. He took a tentative step towards her, looking down at her rosy cheeks – pink enough now to hide some of the freckles that dusted her alabaster skin. He had told her many times that she was beautiful and once she'd told him that when he looks at her, she knew that he was taken with her. That she no longer needed to hear the verbal confirmation.

He helped her undress, easing the sweater over her arms and he was delighted to discover that she had removed her bra earlier when she'd changed. Her full breasts swung free, her coral coloured nipples already hardened to tight peaks atop her soft flesh. Self-consciousness was long gone between them and he was brazen as he drank the image of her in. Standing before her, he had to bend to run his tongue over the puckered flesh of her areola. She whimpered then, her slender fingers sinking into his rich, dark hair. She urged him to continue, not afraid to demand that he suckle her. She liked it when he forewent tenderness here – for the harder he sucked the better more she her desire peaked. His teeth nipped playfully and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Even through her jeans, he caught the scent of her arousal and with nimble fingers he popped the button, easing the zip down as she purred like a satisfied kitten massaging his scalp with tender caresses. Her approval was evident, her hips rolling as he assisted her in slipping her jeans and her panties off. Planting his hands on her slender waist, Mulder held her still, getting to his knees.

Her eyes were the same navy shade as a midnight sky; velvety and thick with desire. She released his hair, smiling down at him with serious intent. Sex between them had always been good – from the first night he took her to his bed and expressed what seven years of repressed sexual tension could do to a man - until now. There had never been a woman in his life who compared to her.

"Too much clothes, Mulder," she complained sinking to her knees as well. As swiftly as he undressed her, he shed his own clothes smiling at her with a feral glint in his eyes. Sitting back he took her hips, positioning her above him. Scully willingly followed his lead, losing herself as she so often did, in the warmth of his touch and the searing tingle of expectation, anticipation.

She could remember so vividly how he'd felt that first time they'd made love. Only a small woman, he was bigger than she had expected and it took her body time to adjust to him. Now, as he slipped inside her with the slow consideration of a man who knew how to evoke 

pleasure, her muscles stretched easily – already moistened by her desire. He swallowed hard, closing his head as his thumbs dug into her hip bones. She felt divine, he found himself thinking as she shifted above him, far enough that he almost withdrew from her entirely. Just when he almost lost patience waiting to be inside her again, Scully settled tightly atop his thighs, plunging his penis into her body.

Their sighs combined and their pleasure mounted, stroke for stroke. Her nails dug into his shoulders and a sheen of perspiration coated their heated bodies. Mulder drew her tight into his arms, her malleable breasts pressed against his chest and her laboured breaths hot against his neck. His fingers found her hair, releasing the clip that held the now dampened strands and as he tossed the intricately woven faux-silver binding aside, she looked wild. He wanted to take her from the living room floor to the bed they'd shared for six years and make love to her until the sun rose again for he never tired of having himself inside her – having her warmth surround him.

Leaning back, she whimpered noisily, her nipples peaking her breasts like hardened jewels. Her chest shone from their efforts and he dropped his mouth to the valley between her breasts, running his tongue in a long, straight line to the oasis of her throat, lapping the salty dew that had gathered so tantalizingly there. The fruity perfume she sprayed on every morning that smelt predominantly of apples lingered still and mixed with her natural scent and arousal.

His groin knotted and he signed her name – as though he worshipped her as a goddess. The harder he thrust the harder she returned his movements and their bodies slammed together with an urgency they were both familiar with.

"Scully..." he said and she whimpered in understanding.

"Me too."

As they came together, she shuddering and he with a final thrust their names came forth as mumbled syllables and groans. She slumped against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burrowing her nose under his chin. Their skin was slick and they smelt of heady, rampant sex. "Am I hurting you?" she murmured as he drew circles on her hip with his fingertips. His embrace tightened.

"No." He kissed her shoulder. "Your mind as been in the gutter all day, hasn't it?" Scully glanced up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, a ghost of a smile gracing her lips. "You only wear _Exotika _when you're harbouring those horny thoughts of yours." With his fingers, he nipped at her waist and her body rose from his lip in protest as she chuckled. His mouth suckled on her nipple and the laughter faded to a throaty moan. "I remember the first time you wore this perfume," he told her, blowing a stream of cool air over her nipple and watching as the shiny flesh tightened again. It pleasured him endlessly and beneath her thigh, his penis stirred somewhat. "We'd just started..." he paused.

"Having sex?" she offered, frustrated that he'd forgotten about her heavy breast.

"Hmm," he conceded, dropping his mouth to the soft curve of flesh, his teeth nipping the silky skin. "Having sex. You wore it to that conference with Skinner and Agent Fitzgerald and Kirby. I can't remember the name of the other one..." he lifted his head, frowning as he searched his photographic memory for the minutes of that particular meeting. She grumbled, sinking her fingers into his hair and pushing his mouth towards the slightly achy nipple. "When Skinner offered to take everyone to lunch, good idea on declining Scully. Do you think he ever speculated why the conference table was always a little bit wobbly at that end?" Her blue eyes sparkled with the memory; a memory that was happy.

"It was already wobbly when we found it," she replied, getting to her feet. "I suspect our sensible, by-the-book boss was having some extracurricular fun of his own." She slipped back into her jeans, forgoing panties and tucking the underwear into her pocket. "I've always wondered if Krycek obtained a copy of _that_ video." Although if she was bothered about having their sexual antics captured on the consortium's candid cameras, it was more so when they violated their private sanctuaries.

"Dark place, Scully," he said looping his fingers into her jeans and yanking her back to her knees. He kissed her hard, without any of the tenderness they'd just shared. She returned it fiercely, cupping his face with her soft hands. "How about some tea in the garden while we wait on dinner finishing off? Or a glass of wine?"

She grinned. "I'll certainly accept the latter."

* * *

When they'd bought the countryside house much effort had been spent turning it into 'home'. The garden had been the last but ultimately her favourite. Large baskets and pots hung on wooden trellis and sat in soil beds. Vibrant reds and pinks had shot up amidst the earthy, leafy green trees that made surrounded their property. When she watered the flowers in the evenings, the air was pungent with their mixed scent and it never failed to ease the tensions of her day.

Mulder handed her a glass of merlot, sitting next to her on the rocking wood bench beneath the blossoming apple tree. To the left of her foot a tiny green apple had fallen and she leaned forward to examine it. "My mother used to bake apple pies from the apples that grew in the garden of her house. I can still smell the crust... taste the tangy apple juice." Nursing the glass of wine, she settled against the crook of his arm, comfortable in his company.

At the end of the garden a small group of dandelions had spurted from the grass and their cotton-like heads exploded in an updraft of humid air, their feathery white seeds floating towards the night sky like magic dust. She plucked one from the ground, its stem breaking with an audible snap. The spherical clock had remained in tact and she examined it for a long time.

"Make a wish, Scully. Or is that too melodramatic? Too clichéd?" She glanced sideways, smiling.

"Wishes are never clichéd, Mulder. Everyone has the right to wish. To dream." Holding the smooth stem between her thumb and forefinger, she closed her eyes and blew. "Want to know what I wished for?" she asked as they watched the little pods disperse into the night sky. Mulder shook his head.

"No Scully," he replied, raising his glass. "But if it's not too much of a cliché, I'd like to toast to it." Her smile was spectacular.

"Cheers," she answered, tipping her glass with a chink.

-End-


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Lighting the Dark

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own them. No infringement intended. I wonder if the companies actually care anyway. Have you ever wondered? I think the producers would be flattered that people are out there writing stories about their show. Still, in case by some miracle chance, 20th Century Fox stumble upon my story, I want my disclaimer in place!

**Rating: **This story is rated M. Although this chapter doesn't feature any M rated material.

**Author's Note: **I decided this morning as I sat at my desk, plodding on with my day job, that I quite enjoyed creating this world for Mulder and Scully and I like how their relationship is now – so I am expanding this into a story. I don't know how long it will be or which direction it will take. But I'd love for you to join me, still!

* * *

"Why has your man never asked you to marry him?" Mary Pedersen asked as they, four surgeons, sat drinking coffee and eating plain buttered scones in the hospital canteen. Scully had not touched her scone, preferring the coffee alone. Anita Rodgers and Yvette Hardy turned their eyes on her too. She was an enigma, they thought. Rarely she spoke of her illusive partner or their lives together. Former FBI colleagues they knew.

"We never believed marriage was required to testament our relationship," answered Scully, tipping a droplet of cream into her coffee, distracting her hands. She was needed in surgery in twenty minutes and no matter how many procedures she performed, the pre-jitters that today something might go wrong, never faded.

"How long have you been together?" Yvette asked, nibbling on a forgotten raisin with her amber eyes trained on Scully. She was the kind of woman that Scully had speculated for years was 'Mulder's type'; long shapely legs, large breasts 

and dark brown, perpetually silky tresses. Maybe she harboured some residual resentment towards such women for she'd never really warmed to Dr Hardy.

"Eight years. We worked together for seven prior to that." Mary chortled, ruffling her short blonde tresses. Dr Pedersen was in her late fifties but she looked twenty years younger. Her bronzed skin was firm and although laughter-lines had appeared at the corners of her bright green eyes, she wore them well. Her hair was immaculate, kept short and tidy and always a honey colour. She was warm and easy-going.

"Seven years you waited to snag him? That's patience for you. I'd known Erik two weeks before I claimed him for my own." She uncrossed her legs and got to her feet. "Of course, with his Scandinavian good looks, I could barely resist." Scully had seen Mary's husband once. Erik Pedersen worked in another local hospital as an Oncologist. He had fair skin, high cheek-bones and ice-berg blue eyes that seemed to peer right through her. "No kids, Dana?"

This question never failed to sour her mood. She'd been asked numerous times in the past six years and each time, her heart gave a painful twinge. Outwardly, her expression did not change. "No. No kids." William's cherub face, eternally a baby to her, swam before her mind's eye and she forced herself to take a long, laboured breath. She wondered if she'd ever lose the feeling of emptiness when she thought of her son. "Well," she cleared her throat with firm determination. "I had better get upstairs."

Her three colleagues bid her goodbye, recognising that Mary might have touched upon a sensitive subject. It was a long time after she left that they spoke again.

* * *

"You're home early," Mulder said, looking up from the pages he'd spread across the kitchen table. The FBI had a serial killer on their hands and the media had gotten wind of it. Even without the full details, he'd written a profile. The bureau had asked for his help once and his freedom was guaranteed now that he had – and although they hadn't asked for it this time, something about the brutal attacks had left him curious. There was no taste of paranormal and yet it didn't bother him.

"I got finished early," she explained, pausing by the table's edge to examine his handwritten notes. A slender eyebrow twitched upwards and her eyes followed, meeting his. "Profiling a serial killer? Did you get a call?" Mulder laughed.

"For something as mundane as this? No. I'm just interested." Her fingers knotted momentarily in his hair as she passed to fill the kettle. "How was surgery?" Her shrug was half-hearted. "Is something wrong?" It was her stance, he thought, that gave it away. Her shoulders were tight – as though carrying the weight of something heavy.

"Not really," she replied. "Tea?"

"Please. Not really, it's not exactly a 'no', is it? Sit down." Scully allowed him to ease her off her jacket and usher to the table where she tentatively pushed aside his notes. "You're not still thinking about the patient who died, are you?" Her fingers found the back of her neck and began to kneed the tight muscles there. After a moment, Mulder took over, pressing his thumbs into the knots.

"One of my colleagues asked me if I had any children. You know how it upsets me." He gave a sad, heavy sigh as he worked down her shoulders. "I hate denying that William ever existed. I know I have to..." Head bowed, she picked idly at her thumb nail until the smooth pale pink polish chipped away. "I sometimes wonder if we'll ever escape the darkness." His hands stopped now, a warm comforting weight upon her shoulders.

The kettle bubbled nosily and he released her. "We've spent the past six years pulling each other out of the hole," Mulder said as he prepared orange tea, knowing that the citrusy scent always calmed her. "Maybe we don't do enough. Maybe we need a vacation? Something to distract us?" She was watching him through her hair, surprised. "I still have my mother's house. It's by the sea and private." She knew he liked privacy – it was one of the reasons why they choose to live in such a secluded area. Nothing for miles but trees and wildlife. "Since I'm no longer a wanted man," Mulder added with a grin. He set the tea before her, kissing her forehead. "We've been living in the darkness for too long now, Scully. Maybe it's time we lived a little." She could quite vividly recall a number of occasions that she'd advised him that they live their lives and stop chasing monsters and aliens and government conspiracies.

"Maybe you're right," she conceded. "Although I'm not sure how much I'll relax visiting your mother's home when it's been empty for over half a decade." He kissed her now, loving her more for her perpetual need for cleanliness.

"There's a woman who visits twice a month to keep the place clean and a gardener who tends to the lawns. Come on, it'll be fun." Fun, he recalled, was what he'd told her when they'd went into the forest and been almost eaten alive by killer bugs. He smiled. "This really _will _be fun," he promised knowing she was thinking the same thing. "You're due time off work anyway and oh my God am I actually the one convincing _you_ to take a vacation?" She laughed at that, swatting him away.

"Fine, we'll go."

He moved off, smiling.

"Did I mention it was by the beach?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Why do I think you're not implying sunbathing, Mulder?" Scully quipped, sipping her tea. He chuckled.

"Because you know me too well, Scully."

-End-


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Lighting the Dark

**Rating: **This whole story is M rated.

**Disclaimer: **These characters do not belong to me. They're owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and 20th Century Fox. I'm only borrowing them for some time. No infringement intended.

**Spoilers: **This started with a few teeny spoilers and now, I'm afraid none of the episodes are escaping! Millennium is mentioned in this chapter.

**Author's Notes: **Thanks to everyone who has continued reading. It's difficult sometimes to find the enthusiasm to write when you know that only a handful of people are taking the time to read. Over at Bones, the love for the show is still so fresh that the interest is rife. For the loyal X-Philers out there, I hope you continue to read.

* * *

It had been a long time since he'd ventured back to any of the places that reminded him of his family – literally or mentally. When he thought of his father he thought of corruption, lies and the eternal guilt he must have felt in some part of his cold heart in sacrificing his only daughter. When he thought of his mother, he felt an emptiness – a lack of sadness that she was dead, simply because she hadn't been much of a mother when she was alive. Prozac and sherry was the closest that Teena Mulder got to having a loving relationship, except for when she was bedding Spender – the murdering bastard that he was. There'd never be a moment in his life in which he'd acknowledge that Spender was his true father, even if Bill Mulder wasn't much better.

"Your knuckles are going to pop," said Scully as she looked up from the mystery novel she was reading. It was rare that she would select mystery as her genre of choice having experienced enough of it working on The X-Files. "If you're having second thoughts about going to the Vineyard, it's alright Mulder, we can turn back." Always the mind-reader, he thought with a smile as he forced his fingers to relax around the steering wheel.

"No Scully, we're almost there. Besides, you need a break." Long hours at the hospital were taking their toll on her and she looked tired. Since their departure from the FBI she'd thrown herself into her work with the same passion as she had when she'd been a new agent. Meanwhile, he spent his days alone, wandering the vast stretches of land that surrounded their country home, watching the wildlife and wondering about how life could have been so different for them both, if only he hadn't chased rainbows for so many years. "You've been working hard," he added as he pushed the thoughts away.

"I have company throughout the day. You're living in isolation, like a recluse." He grinned charmingly at her, reminiscing about the hundreds of similar car journeys they had shared – he driving and she sitting beside him criticising something about his lifestyle. Some things changed irreversibly and some things never changed. "I'm surprised you haven't started muttering things to yourself yet." She closed her book, shifting in her seat to face him.

In the trunk they'd packed enough belongings for a week on Martha's Vineyard but they'd agreed that they probably wouldn't stay so long. Mulder wasn't sure he could plunder through the memories of a broken home and she wasn't sure she could sit by and watch him.

"I've been muttering to myself for years, Scully." She smiled then, her blue eyes watching him. "Do you ever wonder how we got here?" He asked after a moment, keeping his own gaze focused on the seemingly endless stretch of road ahead. "I mean together... as _more_." More than colleagues, more than even friends. She ran her palms over her thighs, picking her nails again. It was a habit she'd acquired at some unknown time, probably when the tensions of their lives became unbearable.

"I know exactly how we got here," said Scully. His heart warmed.

"Me too," he replied.

* * *

_January 3rd 2000_

The Millennium had started on a weekend. Perfect for party-loving folk who wanted to ring in the new year with extended partying and all-night drinking sessions before work would inevitably resume on Monday morning.

It had been somewhat anti-climatic, Mulder thought. Computers still functioned perfectly, regardless of the mass-hysteria regarding the fabled Y2K bug and the end of the world hadn't come as predicted. In fact, their little home in the Milky Way continued to spin on its axis and he suspected it had no intentions of doing anything different for many more millenniums to come.

Personally he'd have preferred to have returned to work yesterday because the weekends were always a drag but after their tentative kiss in the hospital this one had been painfully slow. She hadn't called and dammit, he'd been irritable. As experienced by the poor pizza boy who'd delivered Hawaiian instead of pepperoni and cheese.

Now she was nonchalant as she sat behind her own desk tapping away on her keyboard and occasionally clearing her throat. Scully had been finishing the report in the Millennium Group all morning and he was going crazy, remembering how deliciously soft her lips had been as he'd taken the proverbial plunge. It was a romantic gesture, he'd thought. A first time kiss on the turn of a new year. And not just a new year, he decided fervently, a _millennium_. Not many people got to lay claim to that, he was sure.

"Scully?" he said, somehow annoyed that she hadn't acknowledged his kiss.

"Yes, Mulder?" she replied, barely halting the incessant clacking of her keyboard. Damn women and their multi-tasking abilities. He slid a sunflower seed between his teeth and let it crack, the prolonged silence forced her to look up from her laptop, her eyebrow raised in question. "Are you alright?"

Frankly, no he wasn't alright. Maybe she'd misunderstood his intentions when he'd kissed her. His arm gave a painful twinge as he positioned himself in his chair, trying to straighten his slouched posture. Technically, he shouldn't have been at work at all.

"This has to stop," he complained with a wince, holding his elbow as he got to his feet. Sitting was making him twitch with anxious, pent-up energy anyway. She pursed her lips.

"Oh...kay," Scully answered. "What does?" She was proper, he thought. Sitting there with her legs crossed and her hands folded atop her thighs. No nonsense, fully professional Dana Scully. He wanted to kiss her mouth again – harder this time. More passion, less hesitation. The more he thought about it the most convinced he was that perhaps she'd mistaken his 

kiss for a friendly 'Happy New Year' kind of arrangement. "Mulder?" she persisted quizzically.

"Scully come here," he said at last, still cradling his aching arm. She must have assumed he needed assistance with it because otherwise he was sure she'd have expressed more reluctance in getting to her feet and crossing the room to him. Her eyes were focused on the sling that held his arm in place, and she lifted her right hand to examine it when he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders.

Lifting her head at once, she was astounded to find his mouth upon hers. His lips were soft but pressed against her mouth with bruising force. She whimpered, digging her nails into his biceps and she struggled to decide whether to push him away or kiss him back. The decision was quickly made, as her lips parted and his tongue slipped inside stroking the inner crevices of her mouth – as though exploring her. She could still taste the salty seeds and a tremor turned her muscles to liquid as she was struck with a sudden thought of how dexterous his tongue might be in other, similar situations. It was the kind of erotic thought she'd hidden for so long and like a dam breaking, all her forbidden thoughts came rushing forth.

Her arms wound around his neck and their bodies were flush, his arousal pressing against the soft curve of her abdomen.

It hadn't taken much time after that afternoon before they were fully-fledged lovers.

* * *

"What you did to me that afternoon in the office was almost indecent," said Mulder as he grinned at her. Scully chortled.

"It was you who kissed me. I had no warning." The memory was fond for the beginning of a personal relationship had been a long time coming. Seven desperately lonely years, working together and never touching – never fully opening themselves to the comfort that came with having a true companion. He reached out and linked their fingers, one hand still tight around the wheel. "That was nice," Scully said, squeezing his fingers. Her skin was warm and he loved to be reminded that they were alive – hot blooded and human. Years of chasing the paranormal had a way of making you forget what real-life was about.

"What was?" he asked as the rain started. A wonderful start to their vacation. He switched on the wipers, and they both listened to the swish of the blades against the glass before she spoke.

"Reminiscing about something happy for a change. Talking about something that doesn't leave a dark cloud over our head." Mulder grunted his agreement, gesturing to the sky above.

"Seems like the weather's done a pretty good job of that," he quipped. Beside him she shrugged easily, her cheek pressed against the side of her chair as she watched him fondly. It still amazed her sometimes how they'd shifted from those inexperienced agents, tersely shaking hands in the basement of the FBI way back in '93 to now. "Hey Scully?" Mulder broke her reverie. "Why don't we make an effort to do this more often? To pick out memories that made us happy, instead of perpetually reflecting on the most difficult times in our lives?"

She smiled.

"I think that's a great idea," she agreed softly. The rain was heavier now, great droplets pounding against the car windshield. In the distance a crash of thunder rippled through the sky and the clouds darkened. Scully felt a warmth of contentment settle upon her heart, the kind she hadn't allowed herself to feel in so long. "Why don't you tell me when you first fell in love...?"

-End-

Don't forget to review! Me likey reviews!


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Lighting the Dark

**Rating: **Whole story will be M rated. Please don't read if you're offended by mature themes.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own these characters. There is no infringement intended in borrowing them.

**Spoilers: **Ascension through to One Breath

**Author's Note: **It's not like me to write so much fan-fiction in one straight go, but I'm not busy at all today and my other half is so busy with work that I'm very much alone! Writing proves to be a worthy distraction however. I hope that you continue to like this little insight into Mulder and Scully's lives that I am creating here. I enjoy writing about them as much now as I did almost ten years ago. No matter what anyone thinks about the movie; like it or hate it, we have to thank Chris Carter for creating such wonderful characters to begin with.

* * *

"Two cherry pies and two coffees, please," Scully said to the waitress in the small beach-front diner. Outside the window the golden sands were empty as the rain plummeted with relentless force along the shore, far out into the slate-grey, turbulent ocean. Aside from themselves only two other customers sat in the diner that afternoon, everyone else retreating indoors to watch television and complain about the miserable weather.

As the waitress brought two slices of delicious cherry pie, the purple sauce running over the edge of the pastry and mixing with the squirt of fresh cream, Mulder reflected on Scully's question. _When had he first fallen in love_? He'd known from the beginning that their destinies somehow lay together – undeniably entwined. But sharing destiny was different to love, he knew.

Two steaming cups of strong, aromatic coffee were set before them and shiny silver forks for their pie. It wasn't often that roadside diners maintained any kind of standard and he was impressed by the quality of the food as he speared the tip off his slice and took a bite. The tangy cherry sauce contrasted deliciously with the vanilla creaminess. He murmured his approval, taking a sip of the unsweetened coffee.

Across the table from him, Scully was watching the undulating water and the foamy cresting waves. Her tongue swiped out to lick away a smear of cherry sauce on her lower lip and he followed the motion of it. There had been many times in their years together that they'd sat in diners and cheap restaurants up and down the country, eating pie and drinking coffee. Most of the earliest times, they'd bicker about some absurd paranormal investigation, she trying to justify the events with some scientific reasoning. He picking the most insane theory from his head and presenting it to her in a matter-of-fact and often infuriating tone.

Their gazes fused and he watched her openly. She was still beautiful, he reflected. Her hair was so much longer now than when they'd worked together. Hanging down her back, it was lighter too. Sometimes, like now, she kept it twisted into a claw-like clip at the back of her head and he effect was pure elegance. Scully was elegance personified, though. She always had been. There was subtle dignity about her that he'd fallen for – over and over again until his head was consumed with thoughts of her.

The t-shirt she wore dipped into a v-neck and he could see the swell of her breasts beneath. Older now, her body was still a delight to behold. Slender and firm, he ached to touch her all the time. They hadn't made love since the evening in the living room and he hoped to take her to bed early tonight. With the rain he didn't think an evening on the beach was likely.

"What are you thinking about Mulder?" she asked, nicking a corner off her pie. He swallowed a mouthful himself.

"I know when I fell in love with you."

* * *

_1994_

He felt empty without her.

Even though they hadn't been working together for months, she'd been around in his life. She'd been just across the city, close enough that he could call her – visit her if his day was so desolate that 

he needed to see her. Her sceptical blue eyes would meet his, tinged with disbelief at his latest ludicrous theory. Her soft, cool hands would touch his forehead when she thought he might be sick and God, he relished having her around. Even if he didn't get to call her his partner, she was his friend.

Now she was gone and his life appeared to have lost all meaning. Things no longer made sense and as each day drew to a close, he sat alone in his apartment loathing himself for being too late – for not being able to save her when she needed him most. He'd lost her now and he had no reason, except for blind faith, to believe he'd ever get her back. Most nights he wept for her and it was a peculiar feeling, mourning the loss of someone other than Samantha. Images of her haunted his dreams; her eyes wide with fear, her mouth calling out to him. Her voice echoed in his mind, over and over and each time he woke, drenched his sweat and furious with himself.

His basketball had been pounded off every wall in the apartment and a chip of plaster had broken off during one of his more violent moments. It was when he was bouncing said ball that he came to the conclusion that his feelings, the emotions stirred by having her in his life, could only be love. He desired her of course, but sexual yearning didn't quantify love. As much as he had lain awake at night, wondering what her body would feel like in his hands and how he'd pleasure her, that was purely his hormones. Love was needing her. Needing to have her in his life, and talk to her about the simplest of things.

He'd never experienced love before, it seemed. Not with Phoebe and not with Diana. Two women who had been in his life for a period of time – shared his existence and slept in his bed and now he realised they hadn't touched upon his soul in anyway like Dana Scully had. Her integrity and her honour were unmatched by anyone he'd encountered in his life and he knew he was truly blessed to have known her.

* * *

"When you turned up a few weeks later, I'd never experienced joy like it before. It seemed as though you weren't going to make it and the pain... I cannot explain. If I had lost you, there would have been a void in my life. I watched you lie there, wondering where you'd been and what they'd done to you and I wanted to hunt them down and slay each one of them for every flicker of pain they'd caused you. And me."

He realised he'd been talking for so long that his coffee had gone cold and his cherry pie was half eaten. Both her plate and her cup were empty. Her eyes swam, a shimmery layer of tears unshed. 

Reaching out she lay her hand on top of his letting her thumb gently stroke his skin. They'd never spoke of her abduction in such detail before because back then she'd been so desperate to put it behind her, to move on and prove she was able to work just as well as always. For years it was almost as though it hadn't happened. Until the cancer. Until the infertility.

She cleared her throat. "I thought we were avoiding darkness," she quipped and he sighed, downing a mouthful of lukewarm coffee.

"Perhaps our lives are so tightly entwined in the darkness that we'll never fully be free of it." With a cheeky smile, he continued. "And anyway, this story does end well. After you woke up and everything was back to 'normal' – as much as our lives _could_ be, I didn't feel bad when I masturbated thinking about you. I was in love with you after all." Her jaw slackened.

"Mulder!" she scolded, her fair cheeks staining pink as images of him bombarded her mind. She'd often imagined him pleasuring himself – bringing himself to climax and she'd wondered if he had thought about her. There'd been so many instances that she'd done the same, her desire so tightly wound that she was a spring that was near breaking point. Thinking of him brought about a satisfying release that was exceeded only by the real thing. He grinned.

"You did it too!" he exclaimed, reading her expression – her thoughts. She gasped.

"I did not!" But her tone was light and she felt barely any embarrassment at him knowing these intimate secrets. They'd been together too long for such reservations, now. The waitress interrupted their intimate conversation, asking if they'd like their check. She mourned the loss of their privacy, wishing they could continue to delve into the lighter moments of their past. As Mulder had said, even though his story had been dark it had ended well.

He paid, opening the door for her in the chivalrous way he always did. Snapping open an umbrella he held it over their heads, slowing his pace for her as they made their way across the parking lot. "The house is close," Mulder told her. "I was thinking we could order some Chinese food tonight, watch bad movies on cable and maybe..." The maybe was left hanging and Scully didn't mind. She'd been hoping the same thing. Since they'd made love a few nights earlier, she'd thought of it often. "But before that, I think you have a story you need to tell me."

"Yes," she agreed, linking her arms with him. "I think I do."

-End-

Well that's the end of another chapter. I'm working on the next one. Now I just have to decide when Scully fell in love with Mulder.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: **Lighting the Dark

**Rating: **M – this chapter contains sexual situations and if you're offended by that sort of material you shouldn't read. Thank you.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any the characters mentioned herein. No infringement intended.

**Author's Notes: **Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and reviewing.

* * *

Teena Mulder had style.

She'd decorated her home with ornate works of art, fine paintings and antique furniture. Each piece was worth a small fortune and Scully suspected she had somehow wanted to fill her life with something; give the emptiness meaning. She'd been an icicle of a woman; uptight and emotionless even when she spoke to her son and her only remaining child. She hadn't looked at him with a maternal fondness or any kind of feeling whatsoever.

But Scully couldn't deny that the home she'd occupied before her death was beautiful. True to his word, Mulder had hired a caretaker to ensure the antiques remained dust-free and the he'd called before his arrival to ask the woman if she could purchase some essential groceries; coffee, milk, bread and cereal.

Her name was Connie – an overbearing motherly type of woman to talked way too fast and hugged them both enthusiastically despite having met Mulder once and Scully never. "Pleasure, pleasure," she insisted as she planted her hands atop her rounded hips. "Hope you like the place, Mr Mulder. Finally decided to come back up, eh?" Mulder struggled not to wince and Scully recognised his discomfort immediately.

"Just taking a short vacation Mrs Eccles."

"Connie," she insisted with the wave of her hand. "Miserable weather we're having. It's been like this on and off for a week now. Hope you didn't have sunbathing planned." Mulder's eyes flickered to meet hers so briefly she almost missed it. "I'll get out of your hair. If you need anything just holler. I only live down the street." It was easy to imagine Connie Eccles hollering alright for even when she talked her voice was booming with undue enthusiasm.

Mulder ushered her outside, biding her goodbye as she shook open her umbrella and disappeared off into the rain. Closing the door, he exhaled deeply. Somewhere in the distance a rumble of thunder rolled through the clouds and he chuckled. "Thank God that's over with. I knew from phone calls that she was a colourful character but..." he rolled his eyes and Scully smiled, unbuttoning her coat.

"Nice house, Mulder," she said running her fingers over the plush cushions that were piled against the corners of the sofa. "These antiquities must be worth a fortune on their own... and this house..." The former residence of Teena Mulder was far bigger than she could possibly have required. Four spacious bedrooms – all with exquisite views, two bathrooms, a rustic kitchen, a study and a terrace that lead out to a small backyard and then a steep inclining stairway to the beach below. Their own home in was nothing to balk at certainly, but there was something luxurious about this home that spoke of wealth. Not a happy wealth, however. She got the impression as she walked around the living room, pausing to study the original oil paintings and tentatively touch the rims of vases, that his mother had lived out her days unable to find true enjoyment in the materialistic things she'd purchased.

"What should we do first?" Mulder asked, kneeling to untie the laces of his boots. The hems of their jeans were soaked through and droplets of rain had saturated their hair. Scully ruffled her unruly tresses, suddenly cold. "Would you like a coffee?" Another clap of thunder erupted in the sky, startling her. She lifted her eyes, following the sound of it as it moved across the sky in a low, menacing growl.

"I'd like a shower," she decided. "Or a bath. I'm cold." Stretching out her arm she showed him the prickly layer of goose-bumps that had risen along her skin. Years ago, he'd have been forced to feign nonchalance but these days he could say and do mostly what he had wanted to do in his heart for what felt like an eternity. It was liberating. Mulder reached out to her, drawing her slender frame into his arms. So much smaller than him, her curves seemed to fit against him. She trembled against him, her exposed skin cold.

"Here," he said as he took a thick woollen blanket from the back of the sofa. The material was soft and smelt of fresh lemony detergent. Connie had left no stone unturned in making sure his inherited home was as welcoming as possible. He draped the blanket around her shoulders, touching her chin to urge her eyes towards his. "You sit," he whispered to her, "and I'll run a bath."

Crèmes and bubble-bath had been thrown out long ago and the bathroom was sparse. Aside from the requisite toilet rolls, soap, toothpaste and air-fresheners there was little he could use to prepare the soothing baths she was used to at home. Rummaging in the cupboard he found a bottle of honeysuckle and jasmine oil - only a quarter full. She couldn't have bubbles but at least the oils would calm her and help her to relax. Steam rose in thick, scented plumes as he ran the water reflecting how much his mother had changed her home in the latter years of her life. For an eternity she'd decorated her bathroom in garish floral patterns and left ceramic knick-knacks on all the surfaces. The bath, sink and toilet had been a pale shade of pink and he'd blanched every time he'd been forced to visit.

Now though, the walls were a pale, soothing blue and the pink had been replaced with a new shiny white tub that curved wide at one end and the taps were still a clean silver. She must have redecorated close to her death. Her suicide.

"Oh Mulder," Scully appeared in the doorway, her forehead creased in a frown of disapproval. "Can't I leave you alone for a minute and you're thinking of _those_ memories again?" She set aside the blanket, drawing a deep breath of the honeysuckle and jasmine into her lungs. She approved, he could tell. "Want to tell me what you're thinking about?" Scully asked, standing between his legs as he rested on the edge of the tub. Her fingers wound of their own accord in his hair, knotting in the still damp strands.

"About my mother," he sighed morosely. "I always believed that somewhere beneath her upper-class rigidness there was _something_. I can only remember two occasions in which she showed me affection, Scully. If I'd known then that they'd be the only times..." She shushed him as she so often did, pressing his cheek against the swell of her breasts. Silence descended upon them as he listened to the steady thump of her heartbeat against his ear. "Get undressed," he whispered against her. "Your bath is ready." He pulled his fingers through the lightly scented water. Scully stroked his scalp once more, her gaze probing his eyes intently. She was so insightful he knew and if he weren't already so emotionally open to her, he'd have been afraid by her knowledge of him.

Smiling at last, she stood. "You can stay." It had surprised him how after they'd become lovers she'd been so unabashed by nudity. Scully removed her clothes, pausing to fold them before lifting her leg into the tub. "Ooh... hot! Smells great though." He had no control over the arousal that 

pulsated through his body at her nakedness. She had a beautiful back, he thought. There'd been many nights he'd lain awake running his fingertip along her spine and following the sweet curvature. "Mulder?" she glanced quizzically at him, settling herself into the tub. He smiled.

"I'd like to stay," he said. "Maybe you can tell me your story now." She drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. The look in her eyes was nothing short of 'come hither' and he was happy to oblige, undressing quickly and sinking into the water behind her, resting in the wide curve of the bathtub. The water seemed to cocoon him – embrace him almost. Parting his legs, he urged her close and she settled back against him, her hair spilling over his shoulder. It felt good to have her in his arms, her warm body resting against him. "So..." he whispered against her ear, revelling in her subtle tremble when he did. "When?"

A long moment elapsed as the steaming water sloshed against the edge of the bathtub. Then she said three words.

"Robert Patrick Modell."

* * *

_1996_

She left the hospital room, reeling. Mulder followed behind with his eyes downcast and she knew he was deep in thought – replaying the events over and over again and his memory was just sharp for his own good, sometimes. Their footfalls against the corridor were the only noises between them because he didn't speak and she was reluctant to break his reverie.

His silent reflection forced her to recall the afternoon's events, too. In the beginning she hadn't believed a man could force his will upon other people – not in the way Modell had done. But she'd watched Collins set himself alight, his flesh seared beyond recognition. She'd watched Frank Burst die of a heart attack and although there could be no definitive proof that it had been Modell's doing – and she'd stated as much – when Mulder had turned than gun on himself, pulling the trigger with undiluted fear in his eyes, she'd known he hadn't been responsible for his actions. Something in Modell was persuading him to do so and it terrified him.

It had terrified her, too. Standing there watching him she'd been rigid with fear. Time passed in infinite stretches that somehow weren't long enough. His eyes pleaded with her; _do something, Scully. Do something._ And desperation had seized her as she realised she could not let him die. Be damned everything else, they had to see the day through together. The feeling in her heart had been unlike anything she'd experienced before – a painful ache of impending doom that had almost suffocated her as she'd stood there.

Then the fire alarm sounded and she realised that she'd found the strength to move. A bullet discharged from the chamber and Modell was down. Model was down but Mulder was okay and her soul rejoiced. _I can't be without him_... she thought as she took the gun from his hands, FBI agents rushing into the room. He kept his head down, near weeping with relief. His posture was one of defeat, however and she wanted so badly to comfort him and take him into her arms. _When did I fall in love with him_? She asked herself. Of course there could be no determinable way to know when her heart had finally been surrendered to him – but only that she had realised it now. So close to losing him.

* * *

"Modell," said Mulder as he narration drew to a close. His arm had wrapped around her and while she had spoke, his fingers were stroking her nipple, cupping her breast and distracting her. "I would never have guessed that moment," he told her. Against her back, he was hard and she wanted to discuss the story further but the distraction had proved too much. Reaching behind, she took his penis in her hand and stroked him firmly. The water shifted noisily as he jerked into the cone of her fingers.

"You've interrupted my story," she complained half-heartedly, shifting up enough that his penis settled against her backside. His hands cupped her breasts, her nipples hardening at once. Moaning, she wriggled against him. "You've always been insatiable, Mulder." True, indeed. Since they'd become lovers his appetite for sex never ceased. Was never satisfied. Parting her thighs, he slipped one hand beneath the water and stroked her hot flesh. Running his fingertips over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Turning in the tub to face him, she settled back atop his thighs positioning his penis against her opening. The first moment he entered her, every time they made love, she was reminded of the first time. He felt divine inside her, filling her body and stretching her open. She relaxed against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing her breasts against his chest. His lips found her throat, dropping open-mouthed kisses to the column of her neck. She sighed, breathing in the scent of jasmine. His skin felt soft from the treated water and she closed her eyes, relishing in the 

intimacy of their act – something she always found herself doing. Perpetually grateful to have a sense of loving and being loved.

"Scully..." he groaned, his hands tight on her hips as he pushed himself into her. She responded with a groan of her own. He pulled her head down for a lingering kiss, her lips tasting of something he couldn't quite identify. Her hair was damp, the steam making the strands wavy around her shoulders and he thought she looked more beautiful than he could ever remember – of course he always had this thought when was making love to her. Each time she was more ethereal than the last.

"Oh..." she murmured, arching her back in the way she often would when she was close. He quickened his pace, her inner muscles tightening around him like liquid velvet. His fingers closed so tightly around her hips that he wondered if he might bruise her alabaster skin. Her thighs clamped around him and she dug her nails into his back, whimpering as she abandoned all sense of modesty. He suckled her nipple as she came, trembling and quivering as she rode out the waves of her orgasm. "Oh Mulder," she sighed, falling against him. "I'm sorry." His penis was hard inside her and she knew he hadn't reached climax himself. His fingers stroked her hair, his mouth pressed against the shell of her ear.

"Shush," he said, holding her tight. "Later you can show me that amazing thing you do with your mouth." She shuddered with laughter, kissing his shoulder.

"Gladly," she replied.

* * *

Sorry about the delay. I went to see The X-Files Movie last night. I was impressed by the characterisation of their relationship although I personally would have liked to have seen a plot line more focused around the "Tooms" or "Host" kind of idea. I would have classed this as more of a thriller than a horror but it was absolutely wonderful to have seen Mulder and Scully back on our screens again. Horray!


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